


Old Gregg Goes Stateside, or The Trouble in Colon

by cruelest_month



Category: Mighty Boosh (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crack, Crossover Pairings, Gen, Humor, Urban Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:04:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/pseuds/cruelest_month
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters head to Colon, Michigan to deal with Old Gregg. But when Sam gets abducted by the scary fish-man-thing, Dean is stuck relying on Howard Moon and Vince Noir in order to save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Gregg Goes Stateside, or The Trouble in Colon

**Author's Note:**

> When I wrote this for a friend, it was meant to be a drabble. It is 15 pages long and therefore not a drabble. It is more important that you know a bit about _The Mighty Boosh_ than _Supernatural_. The Winchester brothers are from season 1. Vince and Howard are probably from series 3.
> 
> Warnings - There's a swear, boys kiss twice, and Old Gregg is a freak as per usual.

Since there was an Intercourse, Pennsylvania, it shouldn’t have come as much of a surprise that there was a little hick town called Colon, Michigan in St. Joseph Country and next to the St. Joseph River which fed into Lake Michigan. What was weird about Colon… Well, what wasn’t weird about Colon? First of all, it had the body of Harry Blackstone, Sr. buried in its cemetery and it was “The Magic Capital of the World.” And it had an Amish community. And was near two other lakes: Long and Palmer. 

The first thing Dean had done when they got into to town was laugh. A lot. Once he’d recovered from the incredible sites of Colon, he’d bought Sam a shirt that said “Colon is for Magic Lovers” with Charlie Brown’s –Charles S. Brown to be more precise. What? He liked to be creative when it came to choosing an alias- credit card. It ended up being more of a gift for himself though. Sam wouldn’t wear it.

Then they’d gone to check out Palmer Lake which seemed to be having a lot of trouble. Not in terms of property values or getting people to commit to lake houses they probably didn’t need, but there was something out in the water. Some of the reports Sam had found said it was a merman. Others a “scary scale-y man-fish.” Some said it was the ghost of Harold Palmer who had died out there on the lake trying to catch a rascally catfish. Some said it was a giant thumb about the size of a garage and covered with seaweed… Which actually didn’t make any sense.

Whatever. It was a nice break from wendigos and succubi. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. And whatever it was seemed to be going after adult males. Some of them ended up getting returned to their loved ones or found wandered the roads leading out of Colon, but they seemed to be unable to talk. They just screamed and ran away crying. It was weird and lame and Sam had been interested in seeing if they could sort this one out before all the families with kids drove up to their lake houses for the summer. 

The lake house they ended up renting was way too big for two people, but they were only going to be there a few nights and then they’d magically get the hell out of dodge before anyone noticed. Plus Charlie Brown was paying.

The houses around them were empty and quiet. A lot of people had packed up, but a few old ladies were still hanging out talking on a porch. They waved to him and Dean waved back before checking out the rest of their rented property. The view from their pier was nice and it was hard to believe that the sunny sparkly lake water was home to anything dangerous. Maybe a duck with rabies or the ghost of some magician’s pet rabbit hopping around trying to get revenge, but not a merman fish thing.

There was no where to eat in Colon so they ended up driving to Leonidas –it was that or Athens or Sherwood—to the Thunder Hog Saloon for dinner and stuff to drink since Dean felt he was a little too sober for this self-imposed assignment. And Sam seemed inclined to agree for a change. No one talked much and they talked even less when Dean brought up the subject of Palmer Lake. 

“Gonna be hard this summer,” one of them said. “A very hard time for Colon.”

“Now that Old Gregg’s here,” another agreed. “In Colon.”

“The giant thumb hiding in Palmer Lake? In Colon?” Dean asked, looking amused until they both glared at him. He knew this was serious business, but he was having a hard time taking this seriously. 

“Not a thumb, boy,” the bartender said. Everyone seemed to want to get their two cents in. “No thumb could cause so much trouble. You mark my words and you mark them very well. It’ll be a rough night tonight. The moon’s full and he’ll be out.”

“What exactly is Old Gregg?” Sam asked, looking more sincere and interested than Dean had managed so far.

The old fisherman in the corner looked at them with haunted eyes. They were red-rimmed like he’d just finished crying. This place was really just all kinds of creepy. “Argh. He’s the spawn of the devil and a seahag. A crazy manfish beast with bloody lips and seaweed for hair.”

“And a corncob pipe and two eyes made out of coal,” Dean muttered when they finally left. “You were right. Shoulda gone to the Robin Hood Inn.”

“Yeah, but right now I guess we’re going fishing.”

“Nice night for it. Outside of the moon being full and the merfish-guy going to come by and scare us.”

“Even that might not be so bad.”

“How do you figure?”

“I’m looking forward to the manfish making you cry.”

“Dude, I’ll bet you twenty bucks that you’re the one that’s gonna cry first.”

Sam just shrugged and grinned.

*

Fishing was really, really boring. Didn’t help that Dean couldn’t seem to catch anything but a cold and a boot and then a turtle that bit into his thumb once he got the hook out of its mouth.

“Okay, seriously, Old Gregg should just show up already.”

Sam hadn’t caught anything but he seemed to be pretty happy anyway. “Maybe we’re not old enough. Or he went over to Long Lake instead.”

“Maybe this is what happens. You wait out here for Old Gregg and the waiting makes you so anxious that you scream and cry or start talking like that pirate from Spongebob Squarepants.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Dean.”

“Whatever, Sammy. It makes about as much sense as anything else. Next time? I pick where we go.”

“Why?” 

“When I pick a place? There’s werewolves and trouble and possibly some hot chicks. When you pick a place? We end up spending the weekend babysitting the world’s largest ball of string.”

Sam just laughed. “All right, all right. I’m going back to fishing now.”

Dean rolled his eyes and hunched over a little, yawning and eying his fishing pole irritably. “I’m done. I’m taking a nap.”

“Okay, I’ll wake you up if anything interesting happens.”

*

Something interesting probably did happen, but Dean woke up alone with the sun beating down on him and the boat securely tied up to the dock. He wasn’t sun-burnt or anything since it was still the middle of spring so he just cursed and stalked off to the lake house to chew Sam out for not waking him up. But Sam wasn’t there. The Impala was. Their stuff was. Even Sam’s fishing pole was sitting there in the boat when Dean went back to it. Everything was there but Sam.

“Well, shit.”

He took a shower to get rid of the fish smell that seemed to be clinging to his skin and then he started trying to figure out where Old Gregg lived. He didn’t have any leads and he didn’t have any clues. The only contacts he could find when he looked through their father’s book was for Naboo No Last Name who lived in Hackney. He was a shaman. Dean made a mental note to be tactful and not to ask if he was also a clown as he dialed the number.

“Alright,” said a cheery voice. “Naboo’s Nabootique.”

“Uh. Is…” No, this was obviously the right number. How many Naboos could there possibly have been? “Is Naboo there?”

“He’s out,” the voice said. “On a stag weekend.” And he could almost hear the conspiratorial wink. 

“Damnit. Does he have a cell phone?”

“Yes, but he never answers it when he’s on a stag weekend.”

Gee, that was terrific. “You’re not a shaman, are you?”

“That would be genius,” the person said and he sort of pictured a girl. Probably dark hair. Maybe blonde. She was probably twirling the phone cord around her fingers and smiling. She was probably a little stupid, but at least she sounded concerned. “But I’m not. Sorry. Why? What’s—”

There was a brief but heated argument that he couldn’t really hear followed by a loud ‘Oi, you berk’ and then the phone must have switched hands because a deeper, moodier voice picked up where the first left off. “Howard Moon. Jazz maverick and assistant manager of the Nabootique. How can I help you?”

 _You could give the phone back to the chick who works with you?_ , was his first thought, but Dean had better things to worry about and focus on. “Are you a shaman?”

“Well, not as such, but I’m training to become one. Naboo has taken me under his wing…” He could hear some kind of scuffle in the background before Howard continued. “So to speak.”

“Then you’re a… what? A Junior Shaman?”

“Sort of? Well, all right. No. But I’ve watched Naboo perform a lot of spells and I know where he keeps his books.”

Dean really didn’t have time for this and neither did Sam. He also didn’t have anyone else to talk to so he’d have to try and make this work out somehow. “Look, never mind. Do you know anything about Old Gregg?” 

There was a long, long, long pause. He probably could have driven to Leonidas and back during the pause. That’s how long it was. “…Old Gregg?”

“Yeah.”

“Old Gregg?”

“Do you… Look, can I talk to your friend again?”

“No, no. I know a lot about Old Gregg, yeah? I’m an Old Gregg survivor. An Old Greggory victim and expert all in one particularly well-crafted and mustached package.”

“…You are?”

“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t lie about that. Not about Old Gregg, sir.”

“But you can talk and you don’t sound like you’re crying.”

“I’m Howard Moon, sir. Man of Action. Man about town. Man of the World.” _Man who talks way too much._ “It would take more than a horrible traumatic experience to leave a permanent scar on my psyche. Anyway, what seems to be the problem?”

“He’s got my brother.” _And you’re probably my best bet for getting him back so we’re all screwed. So to speak._

“Oh dear. Oh dear. Well, I… We could come help you. That is, I could come help you and bring my assistant along.” Howard’s voice lowered considerably. “Bit of a dim bulb this one.”

 _Uh huh._ If that wasn’t a pot taking cheap shots at a kettle, Dean didn’t know what was. He rubbed his temples and tried to block out the little list of doubts he was mentally composing as the conversation wore on. “Yeah, okay. Let’s figure out where we’re gonna meet up.”

*

How those two even knew Gary Numan was beyond Dean’s understanding, but they showed up at a private airstrip in Sherwood in under four hours and that was sort of awesome. Maybe this wouldn’t be the worst idea ever. The shop assistant might have been simple, but she was pretty good-looking in a strange way. She had on a red blouse, a grey belt with a silver buckle, really tight jeans, a pair of silver boots as well as a pair of sun glasses and a few silver necklaces. And her black hair went down past her shoulders. 

“Alright, Dean?” she asked, taking off her sun glasses. Her bright blue eyes focused on him and looked surprisingly concerned for his well-being which was… Kinda nice. Distracting, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

“Been better, but it’s nice to meet you.”

“That your car?” she asked, grinning a bit and looking behind him after they shook hands. 

“Yup.”

“That’s well wicked,” she said. “Howard, come look at this!”

A guy who must have been her father walked over to them carrying two suitcases and frowning a little as he handed one to the girl. He was dressed…Well, he looked sort of like an old hippie. An old hippie who only liked tans, browns and greens. “Yes, very nice. Hello, Dean.”

“Hey. So. We’ll head back to the lake house and you can fill me in on Old Gregg.”

“I can give you all the details,” Howard said, cheering up a little at the prospect of being useful. 

“I’ll sit up front,” she decided, taking Dean’s arm and tugging him over to the Impala after giving Howard back her suitcase. 

“Now wait a minute. I think I should since I managed to avoid—”

The girl kept talking over him and Dean figured he’d rather listen to her anyway. “I can tell you how we saved Howard from him. That’s my favorite part. I was brilliant!”

Dean’s eyes narrowed briefly as he glanced back at the very sheepish-looking Howard Moon, Jazz Jackass Extraordinaire, before he snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

*

“And we played Pac-man on the submarine.”

“I hate you,” Howard said from the backseat, finally uncrossing his arms now that they were finally heading down the gravel drive behind the lake house. 

“Oh, Howard, it was just to pass the time.”

“But it has nothing to do with this, does it, Vince?”

Vince seemed like a weird name for a girl, but honestly everything seemed kind of weird lately. Dean was beginning to feel like he was only normal person left. At least she was easy on the eyes. 

“I still don’t get what he’d want with Sam,” Dean mumbled, parking the car and sighing only after he’d gotten out of it.

“He’s a freak, yeah?” Vince said, coming around and patting Dean’s arm. A little pointless, but it made him feel vaguely albeit guiltily better. “He probably doesn’t have any friends so he just grabs people off boats. I’m sure your brother’s all right. We’ll get him back.”

“We don’t know where to look.”

“I can help. I can talk to the fish.”

“…huh?”

“I’m a gifted child,” she proudly announced before hopping up onto the hood of the car and smiling. “Animals like me. Most people do as well.” Dean didn’t really like people climbing all over his baby, but he decided to just make an exception since she was cute and harmless. 

“Even if you manage to chat up a flounder or a squid, we don’t have the proper equipment to—” 

Vince laughed brightly and slid off the car. “There’s no way.”

Howard looked surprised. “…You agree with me?”

“No, I mean there’s no way I’ll be talking to a flounder, Howard.”

“What?”

“Flounders live in the ocean. You must mean a catfish. Or a leech,” Vince added, looking at Dean to try and include him in the conversation. “They’re not very friendly unless you give them a bit of blood so—”

“Even if you chatted up a catfish,” Howard said, glaring at Vince. “Even then, Vince, we don’t have a submarine.”

Dean scowled, but Vince grinned and patted his arm. “No worries. We have one. I brought it with me.”

He looked around and frowned at her. “…where?”

“Well, I emptied out Howard’s suitcase after he packed it so Naboo’s submarine’s in there. It fits because it’s magic.”

If Dean hadn’t been so confused, he definitely would have laughed at the wounded expression on Howard’s face. 

*

Sam’s experiences were less pleasant than Dean’s. After being dragged off the boat, he woke up with a pretty bad headache and right away he wished he hadn’t bothered. He was in the sketchiest of caves and the walls were covered in watercolor paintings that probably belonged in the halls of an elementary school. They were almost all of beige things or a man with a green face and pink tutu. That jogged Sam’s memory and he found a corner to discreetly throw up in before the fishy creepy Old Gregg guy came back.

“Hello. I’m Old Gregg.”

“Yeah, hi,” Sam said nervously. He was taller than Old Gregg, and definitely had more muscle definition, but that didn’t make him feel any better. Maybe it was the violent red lips that scared him or what was underneath the pink tutu. 

“I’m Old Gregg.”

“I know. Can…uh…it was nice to meet you, but I really have to go now.”

“You just got here,” the fish man said in a weird stuttering voice as one of his webbed hands picked up a bottle of Bailey’s and a shoe. He poured the alcohol into the shoe and Sam tried to concentrate on how much he hated Dean right at that moment. “You want a drink?”

“No, that’s… No.”

Old Gregg drank from the shoe instead and then filled up a glass with Bailey’s instead. “You want a drink now?”

“No. I don’t drink. I’m... Amish.”

“What’s Amish?”

“Um.”

“What do you think of me?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

Sam bit his lip and shook his head. “It’s dark in here so I don’t know. Maybe if we went outside for awhile I could figure it out?”

“Do you love me?”

Why was this happening to him? Why wasn’t this happening to Dean? Why was this happening at all? “Where are you from?”

“Here and there. Rivers mostly. Do you ever wish someone would treat you like a horse and ride you around town and then feed you oats for being such a good pony?” 

Old Gregg put a weird, weird emphasis on pony and Sam felt strangely uncomfortable, which by that point wasn’t exactly a new feeling. But the dread in the pit of his stomach kept growing and growing. “I’ve wished for a lot of things, but that’s never been one of them?”

Old Gregg frowned a little, tilting his head and then running his webbed fingers over the front of Sam’s shirt. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I do?”

“Do you love me?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You have to love me and then we’ll get married. You’ll be my good little pony.”

Sam moved away and tried to look as much like a stupid nervous twit as possible. He could face down lots of weird things and it didn’t affect him, but this was just too… Creepy. Disturbing. He wanted to go home and that’s about all he let himself think about. That and stalling. “I… really don’t know yet? It sounds like a really big commitment?” 

For a minute there he almost thought the fish-person was going to kill him. But then Gregg stopped moving his hand towards Sam’s throat and instead put it around the wrist of his left hand. 

“I guess you Amish boys get nervous,” Gregg decided before dragging him to another section of the cave. “Let’s do watercolors and see how you feel after that.”

*

Of all the surreal things Dean had witnessed or failed to witness, Vince talking to animals had been the least cracked out. A little Disney Princess, but that was okay too. 

“That turtle was well rude,” Vince muttered as Dean bandaged up her arm after they got into the submarine. “But I think the catfish was right. She said we should just have to go out to the middle of the lake and he’s holed up in this little grotto.”

“There. I think you’ll be fine.”

“Thanks, Dean.”

“Don’t mention it.” He couldn’t believe he was about to say this but… “Did the catfish say anything about Sam?”

“A school of minnows told her that Old Gregg took someone back home with him last night. And a turtle… A different older turtle, mind, said that there’s this Amish boy doing watercolors with him.”

“God no. Not the watercolors,” said Howard, looking nervous and empathetic. His beady-eyes kept darting about the place as he moved over to set their course. 

Dean just looked puzzled. “Amish boy?”

“That nice old turtle was just a bit confused. You have a car so I reckon you must be Marmites.”

“…Wait, what?”

“Mennonites, Vince.”

“Wotever.”

“No we’re not. Maybe Sam just said that.”

“That’s probably good, right? I mean, Amish people don’t have sex, do they?”

“You don’t know that,” Howard tersely pointed out. “And it won’t do him much good if Gregg doesn’t know what Amish means.”

Dean let them go on bickering like an old married couple and walked to the other side of the submarine where little green lights kept blinking and flashing.

“No way. You guys get Space Invaders in here?”

“I guess we must,” Howard muttered and Dean decided it couldn’t possibly hurt anything to play a game as they headed out to find Sam. Just one game. His guns were clean and he didn’t have anything else to do or check on.

After his second or third game, Vince came over to watch and Dean didn’t really have any complaints about her resting her chin on his shoulder or putting her injured arm around him even if it was a pretty tame and innocent gesture. Wasn’t like they were alone or anything.

*

“Maybe we could do something else,” Sam said after his… He’d lost count around sixteen. Unlike Old Gregg, he’d been doing watercolors of animals and he was pretty sure he’d painted a whole ark worth of them by now.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really,” he lied, remembering the Bailey’s in the shoe. Maybe he should have accepted the glass though. This might have been easier if he wasn’t sober. He was pretty sure the rest of his life wouldn’t be spent in this cave with this weird merman-thing, but it was hard to be sure about anything.

“Maybe we could have some fun doing other things?”

Gregg blinked through his seaweed and Sam was pretty sure that was his way of batting his eyelashes. 

“Uh. Amish people don’t do that.”

“Don’t have fun? They don’t go to clubs where people throw marmalade at each other and lick it off their arms?”

That sounded like something that very few people would do. Gregg was unfortunately probably one of those people. If Sam got out of this, he decided he’d start carrying mace around.

“No, they never do that.”

“They don’t have fun times?”

“No.”

“They don’t ever make sweet, sweet love?”

“Not unless they’ve been married…for fifteen years.”

Old Gregg frowned a bit, scratching at his seaweed then staring down at his watercolor of Bailey’s. Eventually he raised his head and his crazy eyes were gleaming. “Then we better get started.”

“Started?”

“We gonna get married. You and me. Then we’ll wait. We can do lots of watercolors while we wait.”

“That’s…”

“A great idea,” Old Gregg decided before getting up, rubbing his webbed hands together and looking pleased with himself. “Old Gregg’ll get himself a nice shy little Amish husband. But first I gotta get me a wedding dress.”

Sam grimaced once the psycho fishman scampered off and banged his head against the table, sighing as one of the jars of water splashed its contents everywhere. He stayed like that, ignoring the weird noises that came from other areas in the cave and wishing he had some cyanide tablets or even a bow and arrow set at his disposal.

“Shoot me. Shoot me now,” he muttered to himself.

“Nah. I have to save my ammo for your new playmate.”

He blinked and raised his head quickly. “Dean?”

Dean offered up a pretty big and pretty smug smirk. “Hey there, Picasso.”

“Not funny,” Sam insisted. “Not even close.”

“Let’s compare notes on our freaky afternoons later. Where’s Old Gregg?”

“Uh, he’s…” Sam mumbled the rest of his sentence and stared over at the… Was that a submarine?

“He’s what?”

“Doing something else.”

“Why?”

“Look, he’s… Finding a wedding dress.”

Dean blinked and then started laughing really loudly. “And here I thought you needed rescuing.”

“No, I do.” Dean laughed even harder. “I mean, I need rescuing. Shut up, Dean. This is serious.”

A kinda cute-looking guy headed over to them and grinned. “Found him?”

“Yeah, he’s here. Getting married.”

“I’m going to punch you in the face if you say that again.”

“Poor thing,” the other man said, offering up a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. Sam appreciated the gesture since he wasn’t scale-y or part-fish. Dean frowned a little and Sam wondered what was up with the abrupt change in his mood.

“I’m Vince,” the other guy added. “We should go then. Howard might get anxious.”

“We have to deal with this guy first,” Dean said, pulling out a glock.

Vince’s blue eyes grew wider and he looked a little sad. “You’re going to shoot him?”

Sam grimaced and sighed. Dean seemed pretty determined, but Vince’s puppy eyes got to Sam. “It might be a little extreme, Dean. Outside of drinking Bailey’s and watercolors and… uh… Okay, he’s weird, but maybe we shouldn’t kill him. Maybe we could find him…” Vince smiled encouragingly. “A nice… side show to join?”

A man with very, very small eyes popped his head up from inside the submarine. “Right. Did you find him yet?”

“Yes, Howard, but he wants to kill him!”

“…Well, this has been rather pointless then. If he wanted to kill his brother, he could have just left him here. This is a fate far worse than death.”

Sam was inclined to agree, but he didn’t really like where this conversation was going.

“No, you great pillock,” Vince exclaimed. “He wants to kill Old Gregg!”

“Oh,” the guy named Howard said, looking pensive. “Then get out of the way, Vince. I don’t want him to miss.”

“Have a heart,” Vince said, frowning a little. “He’s just a stupid ugly fish man.”

“Yes, well, you say that now, but that’s only because he hasn’t tried to expose you to certain aspects of himself or tried to kidnap and marry you.” 

Sam nodded. He definitely agreed with that.

“Alright,” Vince muttered. “He has bad taste.” Dean snorted and both Sam and Howard glared at Vince. “But wot’s he done that’s so bad you have to shoot him? All the fish like him. Even that nasty turtle that bit my arm likes him.”

Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean shot him a look that said he’d explain that bit later when Vince wasn’t around.

“This Gregg guy is bad news,” Dean pointed out.

“Not really. He just makes people cry and scream.”

“Exactly,” Dean replied.

“But clowns do that.”

“If he was a clown, Dean would have to shoot him anyway,” Sam muttered.

“Can’t we just find him a nice zoo? I don’t want you to kill him. He’s so pathetic and it’s awful.”

“Wasn’t there a scene in Old Yeller like this?” Sam asked as Vince continued to give them all pitiful looks.

Dean rubbed one eyebrow and scowled.

Howard’s beady eyes rolled and he sighed. “I’ll just get you your traq darts, shall I?”

Sam did his best to hide his surprise when Vince gave Dean a hug and kissed his cheek. Especially when Dean looked kind of happy about it.

*

“Well, Gary said he’ll sort it out with Old Gregg,” Vince told them when they got to the airstrip. Howard and Vince had spent the night and the better part of the weekend, but Sam and Dean had places to go and Naboo’s shop needed to be opened for business at some point before Naboo came back.

Sam helped Howard with the luggage since no one else offered to help. Dean hung back, nodding a goodbye to Howard and smiling at Vince. He wasn’t big on goodbyes. 

Vince smiled back. “Thanks for not shooting him.”

He stuck his hands in the pocket of his jacket and shrugged. “Yeah, it’s… not a big deal.”

“It was really nice of you,” Vince argued before grinning. “You’re really nice.”

“Thanks.”

“Anyway, it was nice to meet you, yeah? Shame it wasn’t for very long.”

Even more a shame that they hadn’t gotten any time alone. “Yeah.”

Vince nodded glumly before instantly cheering up. “You can call me if you want. Maybe we could visit you again.”

“I’ll call you,” Dean decided after a moment. “Might be… Hard for you to visit me anytime soon though. Most of what we do isn’t like this.”

“Oh.”

“But we’ll see.”

Vince nodded and kissed Dean chastely on the lips before heading over to Numan’s private jet. “Cheers, Dean.”

“Yeah. Have… a good flight.”

Vince waved before going inside and Dean sighed as he waited for Sam to head back over to him. Then they watched the plane take off before heading back to the Impala.

“Forget about me and Gregg. When are you two getting hitched?”

Dean got into the driver’s seat and snorted. “Whatever.”

Sam smiled and then glanced at Dean thoughtfully. “It’s kind of weird though.”

“What hasn’t been weird lately?”

“Well, I always figured you liked girls.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I just figured you only liked girls.”

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to say here, Sammy.”

Sam blinked and then started laughing.

“What?”

“You seriously couldn’t tell that Vince was a guy? I thought for sure you guys made out after you got drunk.”

“You can’t get drunk on Bailey’s. Just seemed stupid to waste all those bottles of it and we might… Wait. Vince is a guy?” Dean sighed. “Geez. Coulda fooled me.”

Sam just kept laughing. “Yeah, well, obviously.”

“Shut up or I’m kicking you out of the car,” Dean growled before he started driving away. “And it’s a long way back to Sherwood or where ever we’re going now.”

“Hopefully to get you some glasses,” was all Sam had to say about that.

**Author's Note:**

> I have never been to Colon, Michigan or Leonidas, Michigan either. I found them using Wikipedia. There is no t-shirt like the one described in this fic, but there should be. 
> 
> I have nothing against Amish people. Or the pirate from _Spongebob Squarepants_. Not all mermen are freaks. You can actually get drunk on Bailey's. There is nothing wrong with you if you would like to babysit the world's largest ball of string for a weekend. Leeches probably are nice on occasion. Turtles don't always bite people as often as they do in this fic. And that's all the nonsensical disclaimers I can think of that actually apply to the story.


End file.
